“A Celt. From Armorica, in Brittany.”
“I know of it. You are a landless man?”
“My home was taken from me. I seek my father who was lost at sea.”
“And now?”
“I go to Córdoba to see the library there.”
He looked at me more thoughtfully. “Do you read, then?”
“Latin,” I said, “and some Arabic.”
“But there are few books in your country.” So I spoke of the books I had read, and we talked until the boy across the road hissed a warning.
The oncoming rider was walking his horse, approaching the curve carelessly, sure that his quarry was far ahead. Rounding the curve, he beheld John of Seville on foot beside his horse, apparently working at the saddle. He glanced sharply about and, seeing nothing, rode up to John, his hand on his sword hilt.
The boy was silent as I myself, and we had him before he could move. The tall boy slid a forearm across his throat, pulling him back. Together they fell from the horse. Coolly, I drew my scimitar. “Hold him a little to your left,” I told the boy. “No reason to get blood on your tunic.”
The prisoner stared at me, alarm in his eyes. John nudged him with a toe. “You and the others? What is your plan?”
“You speak in riddles. I am only a traveler.” He was a surly rogue and a tough one, yet I believed him to have no more loyalty than most of his lot. “What of the band ahead?”
“I know of no band.”
“You lie,” I said. “I heard your words as you planned. Keep a knife at his throat,” I told the boy, “and should we be attacked, cut it at once. Cut deep,” I advised, “I have seen men with heads half cut off who were not dead.”
“Why not kill him now?” the fat man suggested.
“No!” The thief was frightened. “I owe them nothing. Let me go free, and I will tell.”
The plan was not to attack us on the road but wait until we reached an inn that lay ahead. It was a logical stopping place. A small caravan of merchants was to stop also, and they would attack both at once.
“But they are strong, and there are several!”
“And one of them is our brother,” said the captive. “All will drink wine, and when they sleep—”
With the men of the caravan asleep from drugged wine, they would kill them all. As yet they knew nothing of me, but I doubted my presence would cause them to alter their plans. Binding our prisoner’s hands to the saddle, we started on. Clouds gathered, and there was a change in the air.
John of Seville glanced at me. “You have saved my life,” he said quietly.
“Wait. Perhaps I have only made you aware of death. We do not yet know what the night may bring.”
8
From the hill we could overlook the squat outlines of the walled inn, if such it might be called. In the courtyard there were camels and horses from the merchants’ caravan. Four mail-clad soldiers were turning in at the gate, but nothing could be seen of the rough-looking band that had preceded us.
It lay in the open with no concealment nearby, but if a man within were to open the gates, it would prove a close and desperate place in which to fight.
Hassan, the tall boy of our own group, would fight well, of that I was sure. John of Seville, although no longer a young man, looked in good condition, and I could not doubt his resolution. As we entered the wooden gates wind whipped at our clothing, and a few spattering drops of rain began to fall. It would be a dark night.
We stripped the saddles from our mounts. The air in the stables was close but smelled of fresh hay. The camels seemed well fed and strong, and I commented on this to Hassan.
He gave them a contemptuous glance. “Jamal!” he said, shrugging. “Fit only to carry burdens. You should see our riding camels, the batiniyah or Umanitjah of my country!” He told me of famous racing camels known to travel a hundred miles a day, often for several days in succession.
A big, dark soldier came in, and indicating an empty stall, he said, “Leave it. An important man comes.” He studied me with a slight frown, as if he found something familiar in my face. He hesitated as if to say something further, then changed his mind and walked away.
Inside the inn, John of Seville was seated cross-legged on the floor. Before him was a haunch of lamb from which he was shredding meat. He indicated I was to join him. The lamb was young, freshly roasted, and excellent. There was rice and a jug of wine.
Hassan joined us, full of talk of camels and the desert, pleased that I was interested, and eager to tell of the desert camel and its ways. Knowing that someday this might be important, I listened with all my attention.
John of Seville had little to say, but he did comment that one of the mailed soldiers had come to inquire about our prisoner and wished the prisoner turned over to him. Now this soldier came to us again. It was not the soldier to whom I had spoken in the stable, but his interest was in me. “You joined the party outside Cadiz?”
With my dagger I cut a thin slice of the lamb. “I travel to Córdoba to study.”
“You can read?”
Putting my tongue in my cheek, I said, “I would learn better to read the Koran.”
“You are a believer?” he asked doubtfully.
” ‘Those who believed,’ ” I quoted from the Koran, ” ‘left their homes and strove for the cause of Allah—those are believers in truth.’ ”
Impressed, the soldier went away. John poured wine from the jug, and I detected the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Have you heard,” he asked gently, “about the Devil quoting Scripture for his own ends?”
“The Devil survives,” I replied.
“Is survival, then, the first thing? Is there not something else?”
“Honor first, then victory, but if a man is to learn, first he must live.”
“You would be wise,” he agreed, “to go to Córdoba or to Toledo. The best of all things is to learn. Money can be lost or stolen, health and strength may fail, but what you have committed to your mind is yours forever.”
Of course. Had not my small knowledge of navigation freed me from chains? Had not my knowledge of Arabic taken me to Malaga, and thence to Cadiz? It had done more. Already, because of the little I had learned, my life was richer, my appreciation of all things greater. Yes, I would go to Córdoba. Was not my father dead? Had not his ship been sunk?
As for Aziza, I knew not where she might be found, nor how to help her. Many forces were at work of which I understood nothing, and a blunder might do harm. Christian warred against Christian here, and Moslem against Moslem, Arab against Berber. Aziza might have been carried off by her friends, and my inquiries might lead to her discovery by her enemies.
One of the mail-clad soldiers seated himself near us, another lay down near the merchant. It seemed unreasonable for men traveling together to scatter out, to sleep away from each other. The men from the caravan were already asleep.
When I had finished eating I went to the yard to bathe my hands and face. The wind blew stronger, and the sky was a sea of wind-tossed clouds. Lightning played weird shadow games over the far hills, and the trees bent before the angry wind. It was a night for evil to be abroad.
Often I walked the moors among the standing stones, the ancient stones of my people. What, I wondered, would John of Seville think if he knew that within my skull there reposed the sacred knowledge of the Druids?
Ages ago they had laid down their rules for clear thinking, for argument and discussion, the lore of the sea, sky, and stars, for many secret things also that savored of magic to the uninitiated.
Yet nothing in my native land compared with these cities of Spain. Paris, I had been told, was scarcely better than the filthiest of villages with refuse thrown into the street, carcasses of animals left decaying where they had fallen, and hogs belonging to the monks of St. Anthony wandering through the fashionable quarters of the city. Mud was so deep at times that women had to be carried through the streets on the backs of porters. Glass was almost unknown; windows were covered with oiled paper. Again I thought of the ancient beliefs of my people. In Christianity I found much good, but judging by its effect upon the lands in which they were supreme, the Moslem religion seemed the most successful. Yet it might not always be so.